by Reinke, Sara
“…first thing tomorrow, right?” Jackson said to him, grinning broadly.
Brandon had been lost in troubled thought, remembering something Augustus had told him that afternoon, cautionary advice offered with regards to Valien and Pilar Cadana.
Keep your full powers hidden, he’d said. If they are like us indeed, they may not fully share our philosophies.
Brandon had understood his meaning all-too clearly. Among the Kentucky Brethren, the act of feeding from another of their kind had been considered an unforgivable crime punishable by death. That was why the Morins had been forced into exile for advocating the practice. In fact, Brandon himself had only just recently healed from injuries suffered at the hands of the Davenants for this very offense—they’d damn near burned him alive.
Augustus was right; Brandon had no way of knowing whether or not Valien Cadana and his friends shared the Morins’s more liberal philosophies on feeding or not, but realized that if they didn’t—if they believed, as the Davenants, that it was abhorrent—then he could be in serious trouble if they learned.
At Jackson’s interruption, he shook his head, then folded his hand into a fist, rubbing it in a light circle against his chest. I’m sorry, he signed. What?
“I said we’re going to the beach tomorrow,” Jackson said again. “You brought your trunks along, right?”
Brandon nodded.
“Good. I’ve got to go into the shop for a few hours and finish up some work, but figured we could hit the surf after that. What do you think?”
Before Brandon could sign in reply, Jackson glanced away. His mother had spoken up, drawing his attention, and Brandon turned in time to see her say: “…go on ahead without us. I promised Lina a visit with your Granddaddy tomorrow.”
“Don’t you want to go, too?” Lina asked her brother.
“That’s okay. I get to stop in and see Clarence at least once every other week or so,” Jackson said. With a wink and a smile, he added, “He won’t know what to do with himself, two good-looking ladies coming to visit him.”
They all laughed together, and the conversation turned toward the past again, fond memories the three shared of times spent with their grandfather. Again, as he had the night before, Brandon found himself feeling awkward and out of place, if not somewhat lonely. It didn’t help that shortly after dinner, he noticed that Tessa had sent some pictures of her ongoing visit to Kentucky to his phone.
In them, Tessa posed with their younger brother, Daniel, whom Brandon adored. In fact, he’d always been able to understand and appreciate Jackson’s fierce sense of protectiveness and affection for him, because he felt the same way about Daniel. Seeing the photos—Tessa and Daniel in extreme close-up, both of them making goofy, cross-eyed, tongue-lolling faces—was enough to leave him feeling on the brink of despondency.
He’d retreated onto the lanai after dinner while, as they had the night before, Lina, Latisha and Jackson went into the living room to share more family stories. He texted his sister a quick note of thanks for having sent him the pictures: Give Daniel two kisses from me, would you?
Movement out of the corner of his eye attracted his gaze, and he glanced up to find Lina in the doorway leading from the living room. It was fully dark outside now, though he hadn’t turned the lights on in the lanai. The only illumination was the broad swatch of light from the living room in which Lina now stood, and the dim, eerie glow from the screen of Brandon’s phone.
Hey, he said, opening his mind to her, because even if she’d tried to speak to him, he wouldn’t have understood, unable to see her clearly in the dark.
Hey, yourself, she said, walking toward him. Are you okay?
He shrugged one shoulder. Sure, he said, and he tried to smile. I’m fine, yeah. Why?
Lina sat next to him, positioning herself so she could face him. Reaching up, she caressed his brow, lightly brushing his hair back from his face. I thought you were mad at me, that’s all, she said. Over dinner, you were so quiet, and then you just sort of left and came out here. She looked into his eyes, and said, helplessly, This isn’t forever, okay?
His smile became less forced. I know, he whispered to her in her mind.
Only while we’re here, she emphasized, and he nodded. Stroking his face again, she let her hand linger, pressed to his cheek. I love you, Brandon. You know that, too, right?
He canted his face so he could kiss her palm. Of course I do. I love you, too. He closed his eyes, wishing desperately that he could pull her into his lap if nothing else, and simply cling to her, feel her arms around him. Because I feel so alone right now, he thought, closing his mind so she couldn’t hear. Oh, God, Lina, I really need you tonight. I need you right now.
A sound from the living room must have alerted her, because she turned to look quickly over her shoulder, her hand falling away from him. Rising to her feet, she glanced at him, bringing her fingertips to her lips to kiss them. “See you in the morning,” she breathed, pressing her fingers to his mouth, sharing the kiss with him before she turned and hurried away.
CHAPTER SIX
Long after the lights had dimmed in the living room and Lina and her family had gone to bed, Brandon lay awake in the darkness. The bedside clock read nearly midnight, and yet, his body felt strangely alert, tense almost, as if anticipating something his mind was not yet aware of. He tossed and turned, front to back, onto his side and off again, covers on, then covers off, struggling to find a position comfortable enough. Feeling hot even with the blankets kicked back, he then sat up and stripped his shirt off. When that wasn’t enough, when the suffocating heat seemed to press in on him even more, he opened the louvered windows, cranking them wide to let in the slight breeze stirring outside. Even then, when he raked his fingers through his hair, he frowned at the sweaty dampness he felt.
Goddamn it, he thought, sitting up again, exasperated. He looked at the clock, watching the digital numbers switch to mark the passage of yet another minute, then rose to his feet. I’ll go watch TV, he thought. Or see if Latisha has any magazines laying around. Something. Anything.
As he glanced out the nearest window, he spied a movement from the yard beyond. With a frown, he stepped closer to the glass, then, framing his eyes with cupped hands, he peered through the screen. Just beyond a pair of avocado trees, he caught sight of a slim shadow moving fast, nearly catlike. The moon was out, but the shadows beneath the trees kept him from getting a clear look.
There’s someone out there, he thought, and this time he knew it wasn’t his imagination, some external factor tripping his preternatural awareness of his own species. Barefooted and in his sweatpants, he slipped out into the back yard. Even as his pupils fully dilated, expanding his field of light-sensitive vision, he lost sight of the silhouetted form as he stole through the grass, his footsteps light and wary. For a long moment, he paused, his head cocked, his mind still cautiously extended. Because he couldn’t hear, and now there was nothing to see, he struggled to focus his others senses and pinpoint the shadowy figure’s location. The closer he drew to the edge of the floodwall overlooking the canal, the more he began to wonder if he’d been imagining things all along.
Something moved out of the corner of his eye, and as he pivoted in reflexive surprise, he saw a shadowy figure spring out of the darkness cast by low-lying brush. It plowed into his chest, knocking him off his feet. With a breathless grunt, he crashed to the ground, his assailant landing heavily atop him.
Pilar? he thought, stunned, and then, teeth bared in a snarl—with telltale fangs extended fully—she scrambled off of him and onto her feet. He sat up, watching as she backed away, crouched over, her body tense, her eyes flashing. Stunned and bewildered—at an absolute loss—he limped to his feet.
I was right, he realized. She is a Brethren!
Her fist whipped around, solidly curled, as expertly aimed as any boxing champ’s, and she clocked Brandon in the cheek, sending him stumbling sideways, nearly toppling to his knees. He brushed his fingertips to
the corner of his mouth and felt damp warmth. Tasting blood in his mouth, he spit into the grass. Brows furrowed, he swung to face her.
Like his, her pupils had widened, engulfing any other visible portions of her eyes in blackness. Her canine teeth threatened to force her bottom jaw not only ajar but out of socket. For a long moment, they stood there, facing each other, both of them breathing heavily, both of them rigid and poised for fight or flight. The maelstrom of emotions he’d fought against all day came crashing down on him again, a desire for her—a primal, basic need so powerful, so irresistible, in that moment, it overwhelmed him. He stared at Pilar, locking eyes with her, matching her breath for breath and heartbeat for heartbeat.
Stop looking at me like that. He heard her in his mind, her voice furious, then she came at him again, fists bared and hooking sharply.
The first blow had taken him by surprise, but he was ready for her now. When she swung, his hands darted forward, catching hers in mid-air and deflecting her strike down toward the ground. He meant to immobilize her from there in a light but debilitating aikido hold. To his surprise, she countered his maneuver with a swift, skilled one of her own, slipping past his grasp, dancing around him in a tight, deliberate pirouette. As she did, she craned his arm back at a painful angle, then hooked her free arm, whip-like, across his throat from behind. Throttling him, she gave a heave and sent him crashing to the ground.
Holy shit, he thought as he found himself looking up at the sky, unable to remember the last time anyone had physically overpowered him with martial arts. She knows aikido!
Kicking his legs and rolling his hips in a kip-up, he leapt to his feet, landing softly, nimbly in the grass. Wait a minute, he said, because she was shifting into a ready stance, her fists lightly closed and poised again. Holding out his hand to her, her said it again. Wait, please. I don’t want to fight you.
Get the fuck away from her!
Brandon heard the voice—young, male and pissed off—in his mind split seconds before someone plowed into him from the left, tackling him, sending him brutally to the ground. He hit his head hard enough to leave him momentarily dazed, blinking dazedly up at the man straddling him. Brandon dimly recognized him—Téo, who’d tried to attack him in the bar the day before. Just as Téo reached down, clamping his hand against Brandon’s throat, Brandon wedged his foot between them, the sole planted against Téo’s gut. With a grunt, he heaved mightily, kicking Téo off of him, sending him sprawling into the grass.
Scrambling to his feet, Téo charged again, his mouth hanging open in a furious snarl. Brandon wasn’t surprised to see that his eyes had rolled over to black, his canine teeth dropping down in elongated fangs. As Téo swung a fist at his face, Brandon ducked sideways to avoid it. At the same time, he snapped his arm around, clapping it over Téo’s, catching and pinning it momentarily against his shoulder. With lightning-like speed, Brandon hooked his free hand around, punching Téo in the face, snapping his head sideways.
Téo stumbled, then swung around to blink at Brandon in stunned fury, brushing his fingers against his nose just as a thin trickle of blood slid out. With an angry cry that Brandon couldn’t hear, he rushed forward again, fists bared. Pilar knew aikido, but Téo apparently didn’t; Brandon side-stepped, and for a moment, he and Téo waltzed clumsily together. Brandon simultaneously blocked him, then swept his arm up and beneath Téo’s, so that as the other man stumbled past him, he was able to catch and lock him in an immobilizing hold, his shoulder wrenched at an unnatural angle, his arm twisted behind him. Forced to his knees lest he dislocate his own shoulder, Téo fell hard, his brows furrowed, his face flushed with pain.
Stop it! With a mental cry, Pilar darted in front of Brandon, her arms outstretched. Stop it, both of you!
There must have been noises from behind them, because her expression shifted as she cut a glance over his shoulder, her eyes widening. Brandon followed her gaze and froze. Shit, he thought. It’s the goddamn cavalry.
He counted at least seven silhouettes approaching them, flanking out wide to trap him among them with a familiar face—Valien Cadana—in the lead.
Stay back, Brandon shouted in mental warning, giving a demonstrative little flex against Téo’s arm to make him groan in pain. If he’d been more accustomed to using his telekinesis, like Augustus, he could have cleaved a path through the crowd with a thought. But as it was, his heart was pounding, his breath hitching nearly to the point of hyperventilation, and he was so anxious, he could hardly concentrate enough to maintain his aikido grip, never mind summon any mental powers. All of you—keep the fuck away from me! I’ll break his goddamn arm if you come any closer. I swear to Christ, I will.
Valien drew to a stop and held up his hands to Brandon, palms out. Take it easy, he said in Brandon’s mind, his voice low, nearly gentle. No one here is going to hurt you.
Really? Brandon arched his brow. That’s funny—your sister and her boyfriend here must have missed that memo. They were both trying to kick my ass.
Téo’s not my boyfriend, Pilar snapped. Her brows had furrowed defiantly, but when Valien swung his dark gaze in her direction, she seemed somewhat cowed, her shoulders hunching.
What are you doing out here? he asked. Then, as if a swift afterthought, Never mind. Get back in the house.
But, Valien, she began.
The cleft between his brows deepened. I said get your ass in the house!
Pilar flinched as if he’d taken a swing at her. Then, with a last glare aimed in Brandon’s direction, she hurried back toward the Cadana bungalow.
That’s an excellent idea, Brandon said as he caught Téo beneath the arm with his free hand and, keeping his shoulder locked, forced him to his feet. Why don’t all of you try it? Right the fuck now.
Wait. Valien turned back to him, some of the severity in his face fading.
Brandon laughed. Fuck you.
I just want to ask you some questions, Valien said.
Seriously? Dragging Téo in staggering, grimacing tow, he moved forward, daring Valien to stand his ground. Look, I don’t know what you are, or what the hell’s going on…
We’re Nahual, Valien said, which didn’t clarify matters at all for Brandon.
…but I don’t want any part of it, he finished hotly.
Valien shook his head. It’s too late for that. It wasn’t an accident, you being here, that we found you.
You didn’t find me, and yeah, it is by accident, Brandon shot back. I’m here on vacation. You got that? Vacation. Flexing his grip on Téo’s arm enough to force a hoarse cry from him, he said, Now get the fuck out of this yard or I’ll rip his arm out of the goddamn socket.
“Give me a chance to explain,” Valien said out loud, and now his brows lifted, his expression entreating. “Please. That’s all I’m asking. Hear me out.”
Why should I? Brandon asked.
Because you’re like us, Valien said. And you know it. And you’ve got just as many questions as we do. He held out his hand in invitation. Maybe together, we can come up with some answers.
Even without using his telepathy, Brandon had the sudden, strange sense that Valien was telling the truth. He wasn’t sure why or how, but there had been something earnest, almost pleading, in Valien’s eyes as he’d spoken.
You’re like us. And you know it.
Hoping he wasn’t about to make the biggest mistake of his life—trusting to his instincts that he wasn’t—Brandon relaxed his grip on Téo, releasing him from his hold.
Alright, he said. So talk.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Lina awoke the next morning to find her mother already up, her half of the bed empty, the covers swept back at a sloppy diagonal. She lay on her stomach with a spill of sunshine filtering through the thin cotton drapes covering the window to her left, pooling around her against the mattress. With a soft groan, she sat up, mopping her disheveled hair back from her face. She could smell the unmistakable, earthy aroma of brewing coffee and something else, like vanilla and sugar. Usuall
y this combination set her tummy growling eagerly, but for some reason, instead that morning, it stirred an knot of nausea in her gut. For a long moment, Lina sat against the side of the bed, one hand pressed to her belly, her eyes closed, until at last, the unpleasant sensation faded.
“Morning, Mama,” she mumbled as she shuffled down the hall and into the living room. Through the cut-away window leading into the kitchen, she could see Latisha perched over the stove, a bright green scarf wrapped around her head.
“Good morning to you,” she replied with a smile, looking up. “Did you sleep okay?”
“Like the dead,” Lina said, standing on the living room side of the window and leaning over the counter to peer at her mother’s culinary progress. “Wow. Pancakes.”
Again, usually the sweet aroma would have made her salivate. Instead, that morning, it only made her stomach roil again.
“They were always your favorite,” Latisha said.
“I wish you wouldn’t go to all this trouble. It’ll wear you out.”
Latisha waggled a plastic spatula dismissively. “I’m making these for me. You can fix your own.”
Because she then glanced up, awarding her daughter a wink, Lina managed a laugh.
“Help yourself to coffee, honey.” Latisha nodded once over her shoulder to indicate the countertop maker. “It just finished, I think.”
The idea was enough to make her grimace. “Uh, maybe in a bit,” Lina said, making a show of looking around so she could turn her face away from the kitchen. “Where are the guys?”
“They took off already,” Latisha replied. When Lina glanced back in surprise, she nodded. “First thing this morning. Jackie brought Brandon in to the shop with him for something, then they were going to hit the beach.”
“That’s right,” Lina said, remembering the discussion over the previous evening’s dinner and feeling momentarily lonely and somewhat mournful that she hadn’t had the chance to at least see Brandon that morning. “Did Brandon seem okay to you?”
